


Remembering Ben

by Skaurple



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Coming of Age, Flashbacks, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Kid Fic, One Shot Collection, Post Season 2, Pre-Canon, Rated T for language, Retrospective, Tags to be added, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26999512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skaurple/pseuds/Skaurple
Summary: Arriving back to 2019, the siblings were met with their previously deceased brother. But was it possible to be familiar with a stranger? Because the Ben that stood in front of them wasn’t the Ben they remembered.OR a collection of connected one-shots of the siblings recounting their time with Ben
Relationships: Ben Hargreeves & Everyone
Comments: 13
Kudos: 62





	1. 6,785,441 minutes left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi here’s my attempt at writing a series with chapters that aren’t 4K+ words. enjoy :)

As the Umbrella Academy arrived back to 2019, they were presented with a different portrait on the wall; a stranger from their past whom they all recognized but refused to accept as reality. And when they turned around, they were met with the stranger’s cold eyes staring back at them.

What Diego remembered best about Ben was the joy and warmth of his eyes. This was peculiar only in the fact that Ben was neither joyous nor warm- especially during his last years of being alive. But perhaps Diego remembered Ben with joyous and warm eyes because his fondest memories were when they were naive children. Ben was much more gleeful back then, they all were. The worst had yet to come.

Diego's imagination worked quickly: the stranger that stood in front of them was replaced with a version of Ben that he remembered best. Ben’s eyes were still warm, he wore a kind smile and had an adorable habit of tugging on his earlobe that he later grew out of.

There was a vivid memory stored deep in Diego’s mind: It was their sixth birthday and he was gifted his first knife kit, wrapped with a pretty red bow on top. Contained in the kit were a total of eight knives, bold and sliver— one of which he still kept in his holster to this day. It was not much for fighting (the once sharp tip had gotten dull over the years) but rather for comfort.

Diego stayed crammed in his room, twirling his knife with his fingers and quickly picked it back up when it’d hit the ground. Later, he’d be brave enough to offer to cut the birthday cake.

“It’s best to use those knives for training, sweetie,” said Grace, brushing her thumb softly against his cheek. Diego hid his disappointment but she was kind enough to allow him and the rest of the kids to cut their own slice with a normal kitchen knife.

This year's cake was especially special; they had helped Grace with baking and added their own extra flair. What was normally a plain white vanilla cake had evolved into colourful patterns of sweet icing and a copious amount of sprinkles. Their mouths were salivating as they took their first bites, and rich flavours (that would probably be too overwhelmingly for their taste buds nowadays) met their tongues. Ben was the only one considerate enough to write the recipe down for future references.

“You've all done a wonderful job. I’m very proud of you all,” commended Grace, going around the kitchen table with a water pitcher in hand. She poured the last servings into Vanya’s cup.

“Don’t you wanna try some?” wondered Allison, offering the piece she had on her fork from across the table. “It’s soooo good. It’s the best cake I’ve ever had!”’

“It certainly looks like the best cake!” exclaimed Grace with a sweet smile. “But it’s only fair for the birthday kids to have their birthday cake all to themselves.”

This cake rule was new to Diego. He never knew that only the birthday celebrants were allowed to eat cake on their birthday. Had Grace even had her own birthday cake before? Had she even had a birthday to celebrate? It didn’t seem fair for her not to have one.

When Grace turned to the sink, Diego spotted Ben not-so-secretly slide his barely touched portions over to Klaus.

Klaus looked left to right before leaning in and whispering, “Again?”

Ben shrugged weakly and glanced down to his stomach where the Horror lived. “I never know what they like,” said Ben.

If Diego’s memory served him correctly, It was around this time Ben developed a habit of skipping meals. The Horror was growing with him and much like most six-year-olds, it was a picky eater. Anything the Horror didn’t like, Ben couldn’t like. And the negative implications of it all; it wasn’t something Diego really thought too hard about. Their father always said they should be grateful for their unique abilities no matter their discomfort because it would be selfish to think otherwise. And their father was correct. Being extraordinary was fun, why would they not be happy with the gift that only they were given?

It seemed, at the time, Ben was on the same page with the given logic. He was still smiling as he watched his siblings enjoy their cake and receive a second slice. Good thing their father was cooped up in his study, otherwise they’d all be yelled at for eating too many sweets.

That same night, when everyone was fast asleep, Diego knocked on Ben’s bedroom door. He knocked a little harder when no one bothered to open up. After his third attempt, Diego crept inside and poked Ben’s face until Ben pulled his covers over his head.

“Go away, Four,” groaned a tired Ben, voice muffled. “I don’t wanna hear about your creepy dreams again.”

“It’s Two,” corrected Diego.

There was a pause. Ben’s eyes peaked through his blanket. He looked at his desk clock as it ticked and ticked and ticked... It was nearing midnight and confusion settled on Ben’s face. “Why are you in here?”

“The recipe,” answered Diego.

Ben wrinkled his nose, still confused. “Huh?”

“You w-w-wrote down the recipe,” reminded Diego. “ I w-w-wanna see it.”

“Why? What for?”

“None of your b-b-business.”

Ben frowned. “If it’s none of my business, I'm going back to sleep.” He pulled the covers back over his head as if this disappearing act would make Diego go away. It didn’t, and Diego just ended up snooping around his room for a good 15 minutes before giving up.

Here was Diego’s plan: he was going to surprise Grace with her own birthday cake. He’d bake it overnight and present it to her in the morning. Problem being, Diego had never baked without company before but he believed he had done it enough times to have the general gist of it. He was Number Two after all; it was in his ranking to be a smart and an independent (second) leader.

He knew a lot of sugar was involved. Flour as well. Maybe chocolate milk? But how much chocolate milk? And when exactly would he pour chocolate milk into the mixer? He chose to do it last.

The bowl of ingredients was filled to the brim with all sorts of ingredients. Diego made sure the kitchen door was shut tight before he turned on the mixer. He knew it would be loud but the intense rumbling and growling had caught him so off guard, he flinched and fell backwards. Without his hands to support the bowl, chocolate milk and other random chunks went flying everywhere. It landed on the walls, the floor, even the ceiling and Diego himself. As quickly as he could but not quick enough, he jumped back onto his feet and pulled the plug. Everywhere he glanced was evidence of his disastrous experiment.

Oh, boy. Someone had to have heard him. And his worries were confirmed as the kitchen doorknob twisted slowly. His mind went blank and could only produce loud sirens and flashing red lights. As if on autopilot, Diego rushed to the door before whoever on the other side could enter.

He saw Ben’s eyes peep through the doors for a split second. Diego pushed it back closed and he heard Ben let out a surprised yelp. He knocked softly and called out Diego’s number. “Are you okay?” he wondered, his voice still tired from just waking up. “What was all that noise?”’

“Nothing, go aw-w-w-way!” Diego hissed harshly through gritted teeth.

“But I was gonna give you the recipe—“

“I don’t care!”

The brothers would push the door opened and closed until the slippery surface of the wet kitchen floors had made Diego lose his footing. They nearly fell on top of each other as Ben made his way through.

Ben went into panic mode as he took a good look around the crime scene. Not only had the mixer quite literally painted a mess, but pots and pans and plates and bowls were scattered all over the counters. Different ingredients— many of which should not even be close to a cake— covered the table where they ate. It was as if Diego was planning a full course meal for a full restaurant with endless tables to serve.

“It’s so messy in here!” Ben pointed out the obvious, tugging at his earlobe. “You’re bad, Number two! Why would you do something bad?!”

“I’m not bad!” insisted Diego.

“Yes, you are!” Ben volleyed back. “If dad sees this you’re going to get in so much trouble!”

Diego gulped and rapidly shook his head. “I-I-I’ll handle it!”

What sounded like a door slamming closed echoed throughout the halls and towards the kitchen.

“AH!” blurted Ben, now frantically flapping his hands like he was trying to dry off his hands. “He’s coming! What do we do?!

“I-I-I-“ Diego’s eyes began to well up with tears as the words got stuck in his throat.

“Number Two, what do we do?!” Ben repeated with more urgency. His hands flapped even faster and his feet began marching on the spot like he was stepping on hot coals. Still, the words in Diego’s throat would not come out.

Ben let out a bunch of indistinguishable panicked noises before he got himself somewhat composed and asked, “Are you gonna cry?”

Diego rubbed his eyes, clearly crying. “No!”

“‘Cause I’m gonna cry if you cry!” confessed Ben, already crying.

“I-I-I’m not gonna cry!”

“But you look like you’re going to cry!”

“Shut up, I-I-I’m not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”’

They went back and forth, both watching each other try to suppress an outburst for as long as they could, or for at least until the other broke first. Ben was the first to explode into out of control wailing and the sirens in Diego’s head had somehow gotten louder. He pulled Ben closer by his shoulders and frantically wiped the tears streaming down from Ben’s eyes with his sleeve.

“Pl-Pl-Please don’t cry!” Diego said as he, himself, cried. “It’s okay! I-I-I can fix this!”

“How?!” sobbed Ben.

It’d be five minutes later, Pogo (thank God) would find the brothers hiding under the cabinet sink. They crawled out with their heads bowed as Pogo scolded them for being awake late at night and making a ruckus. Having the title of (second) leader, Diego was brave enough to step forward and take all the blame. His punishment was to clean the entire kitchen, even the old stains he was not responsible for.

Pogo remained on the sidelines as Diego scrubbed at the dirty dishes. It was because of the deafening silence, Diego had taken great notice in the subtle creaking of the chair he stood on. The more he fidgeted, the more it wobbled. It wouldn’t break now but it would break two months later and everyone would laugh at Luther’s cartoonish stumble.

Another sound introduced itself to this quiet night. Diego hadn’t known Ben was still in the kitchen— he assumed he ran off to his room after being let off the hook. That was until Diego heard him drag a chair against the wood floors. Ben set it beside Diego and stood on it. When Diego finished rinsing the plates, Ben took them and dried them off with a rag.

“I don’t get why you made such a mess,” said Ben, finally a voice to break the silence. “It's Number Four who’s messy, not you.”

Diego took a moment to reply. “I-I-I was baking a cake for m-m-mom.”

Ben tilted his head, thinking. “Is it her birthday tomorrow?”

Diego shrugged his shoulders and Ben accepted that as an answer.

“Can I help?” asked Ben. “I like baking. It’s fun.”

“But you ne-ne-never get to eat wh-what you bake.”

“It’s still fun,” Ben told Diego this with a joyous smile, but maybe recent contemplation had affected this particular part of Diego’s memory. Maybe the smile was not as joyous as he liked to believe, maybe it was just a mask to cover the true sadness Ben felt.

But the recently-turned-six-year-old Diego did not think too hard about it. He accepted Ben’s help because he couldn’t be a (second) leader without a team. And once receiving his news, Ben’s eyes— those eyes that held such warmth and joy—lit up like colourful fireworks in the night sky.

It would be the next Saturday during their spare time, Diego and Ben presented their cake to Grace. Diego had never seen her take a bite of it but he assumed she did because she said it tasted delicious… or looked delicious. One of the two. And it must’ve been true; Diego remembered the cake turning out better than their last. His other siblings probably remembered the opposite.

The human memory was a funny thing. You might share a memory with someone, but not always will you recount the exact details as them. Such as the memories of Ben: It had been so long since any of the siblings have seen their dead brother and they all remember him fondly. Yet, at the same time, they all remembered him differently.

Yes, It was merely a false reality that Diego was the only one living in, seeing Ben as a six-year-old. But no matter the details, no matter how altered the memory became over the years, It was his own memory to cherish— a simple memory to keep Ben alive in his mind.

The rest of the siblings followed suit. They stared at the stranger in front of them. Ben stared back.


	2. 3,931,200 minutes left

The stranger spoke and his voice was unfamiliar in every way. Or maybe Luther couldn’t hear him properly because he was too distracted by the _tick, tick, ticking_ of the grandfather clock. It was all he could really hear when arriving back home.

But if anyone else were to take a quick glance around the room, they’d notice that there was not a single grandfather clock in sight. No, this _tick, tick, ticking_ was all in Luther’s head. And as Luther looked back at the stranger in front of him, all he could see was nine-year-old Ben looking back at him.

Despite being one of the more timid siblings, there had been many hours spent listening to Ben’s voice. Ben enjoyed reading his favourite books out loud to his siblings. Usually, it was anything by Shakespeare.

Luther was indifferent. Shakespeare didn’t make sense, like, at all. And Luther stood by this fact— yes, fact— ever since Pogo started teaching them about the playwright. It were the old-timey words that Luther struggled with the most and it seemed he was the only member of the academy who had this problem. For Number One, this was simply unacceptable. With every A- performance, Luther was met with his father demanding he ‘aim for perfection!’ And aim for perfection he did.

Pogo planned to give them a test on _Hamlet_ next week and Luther had spent what little downtime he had studying- this included washroom breaks, breakfast, lunch, dinner, and anytime he was walking from one room to another. But no matter how many times he had reread the text he’d just get more confused.

It was the afternoon before the test, Luther made sure he was alone in the study room when he planted his forehead against his desk and let out a low groan that would go on for five minutes and forty-three seconds straight. A rather specific detail to remember thanks to the grandfather clock that ticked and ticked and ticked in the corner.

“You don’t sound so good.”

At Ben’s voice, Luther lifted his head back up. Ben was standing by a desk across the room, collecting the textbook he accidentally left behind.

Luther’s posture straightened and he put on a winning smile. “Sorry, I was just—“ His smile looked more strained the longer he tried to come up with an excuse. “I’m perfectly fine,” he assured Ben.

Ben forced a smile back and hastily left the room. He’d come back seconds later, hesitantly popping his head through the doorway. The brothers blinked at each other for an awkward moment before Ben broke the silence.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes. Of course. Absolutely,” Luther answered thrice.

Another awkward moment of just blinking. Luther was the one to break the silence this time.

“Is there something you need?” he asked.

“I need help,” said Ben.

Luther’s eyes lit up. He loved helping his team; it was one of the many duties he had as Number One. “What do you need help with?”

“Astronomy,” confessed Ben, stepping inside the classroom. “It’s really cool to learn about, especially when we get to use the telescope to look at the stars, but there are too many planets to keep track of.”

Luther raised an eyebrow. “But there’s only eight.”

Ben shrugged. “I get them mixed up.”

Luther invited him to sit in front of him, and they both whipped out their notebooks and shared an astronomy textbook. Their tutoring session did not last very long; Ben was quick to understand the concepts and memorize the order of the planets, suspiciously so. At the time, Luther thought he was just a really good teacher.

Luther was clearing his desk when Ben suddenly asked, “Are you ready for the test tomorrow? Pogo said it’s going to be three pages long.”

Luther exhaled. “That’s a lot.”

“I made flashcards.” Ben took the cards out of his pocket which were handcrafted with construction paper.

“That was smart of you to do, Number Six. It looks really well made too,” commended Luther and Ben grinned proudly.

“I can test you if you want?” Ben offered but Luther shook his head.

“I don’t think I’m ready to be tested yet.”

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna grade you or anything like that,” Ben clarified. “This is just to help you for the real test. So if you get something wrong now, you’ll know the right answer for tomorrow.”

“But if you test me now, I won’t get anything right.” Once Luther realized how pitiful he sounded he quickly added, “but I will be ready eventually and I’ll be sure to get everything perfect. I just need to study a bit more, that’s all.”

“Pogo is kind of a tough grader. It's hard to get a perfect score.”

“But I have to. Dad would want me to.”

Ben pursed his lips and looked at Luther with his head cocked to the side. For a while, he just looked at him thoughtfully. “Do you like being Number One?” he eventually asked.

“Of course I do,” was Luther’s automatic answer.

If any of his siblings asked him this question now, he wouldn’t be as quick to answer. As Number One, it was assumed he was the best, the favourite, the most reliable to lead a team. But being Number One also came with a cost— a cost that would pull Luther further and further from reality. And what a grim reality to discover so late in the game; the one they called ‘father’ was a monster and Luther had been blinded by misplaced loyalty. Yet still, as their father’s mask slowly peeled off, Luther could not help but wonder if the monster was ever proud of his Number One.

Yes, being Number One meant Luther had to be perfect. But Luther was far from it and he would only realize that thirty-years-later.

As for nine-year-old Luther, he was still innocent enough to ask, “Why wouldn’t I like being Number One?”

Ben shrugged. “I don’t know, it looks hard. But maybe I can help you get perfect? No guarantees, though.”

Luther's eyes widened and he gasped. “Number Six, are you suggesting we cheat?!”

“What? No!” He shook his head rapidly. “I’m suggesting I help you study.”

“Oh.” Luther glanced away in thought. He rarely asked for help and it was rare for anyone to offer it to him. “Are you sure you don’t have anything else to do right now?"

Just then, a screaming Klaus zoomed past their study room with a recently-napping-Diego chasing him from behind. A bold, swirly moustache was drawn above Diego’s upper lip.

“IT WAS SIX! I SWEAR TO GOD, IT WAS SIX!” cried Klaus.

“YOU’RE THE ONE WITH THE MARKER!” yelled Diego back.

Their voices faded as they ran up the stairs.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” answered Ben, completely ignoring what they just heard.

Luther wanted to say yes but there it was again… that _tick, tick, ticking_ , distracting him from answering. Round and round the clock hand travelled.

“You should stop worrying about that.”

Ben’s voice snapped Luther out of his daze,

“I’m sorry?” Luther’s found himself saying.

“The minutes passing,” Ben clarified. “You should stop worrying about it.”

Something was off. Somehow this particular part of the memory was vivid yet unfamiliar at the same time… But Luther knew Ben was right; he should stop worrying about the minutes passing. It would just distract him from studying. So with a handshake, he accepted Ben’s help. They stayed in the study room for as long as Pogo allowed them to, and as they were tucked into bed Luther recited the entirety of Hamlet in his sleep.

By the time of the test, Ben’s voice echoed in his head and it almost did feel like they were cheating. Luther would show his results to Ben the next day. He got an 84%.

Ben frowned at the grade. “Are you mad at me?” he asked Luther.

“No, why would I be?” wondered Luther.

“I couldn’t get you a perfect score,” said Ben, guiltily.

Whenever his team was discouraged, it was Luther’s job to bring them back up. He patted Ben’s shoulder and spoke with a smile of a champion. “You did an excellent job tutoring me, Number Six. You should be proud. This is still better than the grade I would’ve gotten without your help.”

The spring in Ben’s walk was a little happier for the rest of the day.

Ben read out loud _Romeo and Juliet_ that night and Luther fell asleep by the end. Thinking back now, Luther wished he stayed a bit longer just to spend a few more minutes listening to Ben’s voice. It was so much more peaceful than the harsh screams that have been ingrained in Luther’s mind. Oh, how tragic for their Number One to watch the death of a team member— a sibling, when he could’ve done so much more. There just wasn’t enough time to save him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was highkey inspired by my own confusion as a kid, learning about Shakespeare in school. i can proudly say i am still confused.


	3. 3,593,986 minutes left

Oh, adrenaline, what an addicting drug! Five remembered experiencing his first true dose during the Academy’s first mission. The bank robbery was one of the more vivid memories of his childhood, everything else had mostly faded.

From what Five could remember, he felt about twenty different emotions at once that day; excitement, eagerness, maybe even a bit of nervousness… it was the academy’s world debut after all. But most of all he felt pride. The academy spent eleven years in hiding and finally they get to show off how truly extraordinary they were.

The whole mission just went by so quickly. It felt as if, once they arrived at the bank, Five had blinked and suddenly the whole place was covered in blood and dead bodies. Despite not remembering what had happened between those few seconds of his eyes closing and opening back up, he had never felt more exhilarated. That’s what adrenaline does: it takes over your mind and body, and you feel numb yet more alive than you have ever been. It was a high Five could not get off of, and it seemed his siblings felt the same.

“Oh, my goodness, that was so fun!” Allison squealed as the Academy marched back to their vehicle. “I wanna do it again!”

“I know right? I didn’t think so many people would come out to see us!” Klaus squealed back.

“Of course they came to see us. We’re pretty awesome,” said Diego, proudly.

“We did well for our first mission,” said Luther. He glanced over to their father who was walking ahead of them. “But we should stay humble. Keep a level head.”

Klaus folded his arms and rolled his eyes. “Ugh. You’re such a party pooper.”

“I’m not a party pooper.”

“You’re being a p-p-party pooper right now,” Diego piled on.

When Luther, once again, denied this claim, Five joined in on their berating and called him a party pooper as well. This sparked an argument between the boys that would only end when they stepped inside their vehicle. Out of habit, the siblings sat in order of their numbers. Five was the only one to greet Vanya, who was seated in the far corner and had watched the academy through dim windows as they were interviewed.

Their father commended the team on a successful mission, then provided them with a checklist of things to improve on. It was a lengthy list and Ben didn’t have a pen and paper to write it all down like he usually did. Thankfully, Vanya was kind enough to do it for him.

It was after their father finished talking, Vanya begun sending glances over to Ben. She’d do this until he finally glanced back.

“You released _them_?” she asked through a whisper.

Ben blinked at her blankly, waiting for her to elaborate.

“She means the Horror,” Five provided and Ben answered with a small nod.

“How many did they get?” asked Vanya. Another vague question but Ben understood that she was talking about The Horror’s body count. He answered eight.

“More like twelve,” Five smirked at him knowingly. “He basically hit the jackpot. Did you get to watch us, Vanya?”

She nodded. “From afar, yes. You guys looked like you had fun. I wish I was there.”

“You probably would’ve gotten killed,” said Ben, not bitterly, just tired.

“Oh,” said Vanya.

“It’s safer on the sidelines,” said Ben.

“Okay,” said Vanya.

There wasn’t much said for the rest of the car ride until the kids realized the car was taking them through an unfamiliar route. Klaus was the first to notice the ice cream shop they were headed towards. They all cheered while Ben sank his head into his shoulders.

Sir Reginald did not want a mess in the car, so the kids squeezed themselves on to two benches outside the ice cream shop, enjoying the sun shining down as they licked their treats. Five was savouring every bite and refused to finish it as quickly as his other siblings did. It seemed Ben had the same idea. He barely touched his icecream.

“Your ice cream is melting,” informed Five. What was once a perfect scoop of chocolate had turned into a mushy blob that dropped down the soggy cone and onto Ben’s bloody hands, creating an awful mix of colours.

“I know,” said Ben. “I just don’t really want it.”

Was it depressingly fitting or meaningless that Ben’s frown was what Five remembered the most about his brother at this moment? He had been frowning the whole day, and Five feared if he upset him even more Ben’s frown would end up dragging on the ground. “I think you’re the only one who didn’t enjoy today,” said Five.

Ben gave him a look. ”But I did.”

“You don’t have to lie,” said Five. “I mean, I get it. The robbers didn’t give us much to work with. We could have been fighting stone statues and there still wouldn’t be much of a difference But maybe next mission we’ll face some half-decent enemies.”

“It wasn’t that it was too easy. It’s just,“ Ben paused and glanced over to the side in thought. When he couldn’t find the rights word, he shook his head and started over. “It gets so messy, and it’s so hard to control _them_ sometimes. I kinda wish I didn’t release _them_ today ‘cause now there's gonna be pictures of me looking gross. And I don’t think anyone from the crowd was cheering for me. My special abilities are kinda weird compared to everyone else’s.”

“Who said your abilities are weird?”

Ben shrugged but Five knew he was playing naive. Ben was either too nice or too scared to admit who it was.

“Well, whoever did has no idea what they’re talking about,” assured Five. “The Horror is badass.”

Again, Ben made a face. “Badass? You don’t think anyone would be, like, scared if they saw it for the first time?”

“I mean, they’d be a bit scared at first but that’s just because they’re not used to seeing it.”

Ben looked back down at his ice cream. It was now dripping on his lap.

Five took another lick of his own ice cream, the icy cold feeling against his tongue. He’d never forget the distinct flavour of fudgy goodness melting in his mouth, coupled with the rich flavours of chocolate chip. Five was not aware of it back then, but this taste was the flavour of childhood. The flavour of innocence that was long lost after he decided to grow up so quickly. The flavour that was without the burden of the future weighing on his shoulders.

“I don’t really wanna do this again,” Ben suddenly murmured.

“Do what again?” asked Five.

“All of this,” said Ben.

Five hummed in somewhat of an understanding. “You’ll change your mind once the academy goes international,” he told Ben. “This city is not the only place that needs our help.”

“You think we’ll finally get to visit Paris?”

“Possibly.”

Ben almost smiled at the thought. It was the light breeze that reminded him that he was covered in dried up blood and now ice cream. “Ugh, I just wanna go home. Everything is so sticky. And that stupid ticking won’t go away! Aren’t you tired of hearing it?”

Five paused for a second to look at Ben— to analyze him. The more he stared, the more Ben’s face began to fade into something unfamiliar.

….Wait, ticking? What ticking?

“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking you,” answered Ben, and how odd of him to respond when Five has not even asked the question out loud. Ben went on, “Aren’t you the one addicted to time?”

Still, all Five could do was stare. Ben was not making any sense.

“I’m talking about your whole time-travelling addiction,” clarified Ben. “You don’t like to call it that, even though the label Klaus gave you was pretty spot on. You’re addicted to the rush and you finally got a satisfying fix when you attempted time-travelling for the first time. But that only made you want more, and suddenly you’re in too deep, obsessing over every number and decimal in the formula you so royally screwed up. Kind of ironic how the thing that forced you into the deep end is the only thing that could get you out, huh?”

… Five didn’t remember the things Ben was talking about. Was he supposed to remember? But how was he supposed to remember things that haven’t happened yet?

“Maybe it’s for the best you forgot,” said Ben. He pointed at Five’s hand that held his cone. Chocolate was running down his arm. “Your ice cream is melting.”

Five frowned and looked down at the mess he made. He took another lick of his ice cream but found he could not taste the flavour any longer. When he looked back, he was no longer sitting on a bench in front of an ice cream shop. He was back in 2019, where he and his siblings stared at the stranger in front of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this confusing??? i hope so :)


	4. 645,094 minutes left

Allison remembered Ben for his love for travelling. Perhaps it was because she loved it all the same. By the time they turned sixteen, the Umbrella Academy saved the day in twenty-two different countries. Admittedly, it was the celebratory ceremonies after the missions that Allison looked forward to the most. It gave her the opportunity to meet new people outside her tiny social bubble (that being the academy itself).

On one particular evening during the beginning of winter, the Academy was being honoured at a fancy venue with fancy _hors d'oeuvres_ which gave them the excuse to wear fancy dresses and tuxedos. It was a crowded event but Allison was able to spot a group of teens sitting bored at a table in the corner.

Recalling all the friends she met that night was nearly an impossible mission but there was at least one girl who she remembered having a name that started with a ‘J’. She had deep brown skin and for some reason, it was her hairstyle that remained the clearest detail; two braided buns. Allison had always wanted to learn how to style her hair that way, and she made a note to ask ‘J’ later.

“Having powers must be so cool!” ‘J’ exclaimed, her french accent thickening the more excited she became. “Can my friends and I see you guys in action up close? I think there is an empty venue next to us if you guys want to show off your powers privately?”

Allison agreed and grabbed her siblings to perform their party tricks. Luther held two girls on his shoulders and they swooned, Diego threw a knife and made it circle around himself three times before snapping it back in his palm, Allison rumoured a server to give them a bottle of wine, Klaus levitated for most of their conversation, and Ben was just a silent observer. The Horror wasn’t convenient entertainment and it was not like anyone asked for it anyway.

While the others continued playing with their powers, Allison sat at a window ledge beside ‘J’ and asked if she could help with her hair. ‘J’ happily obliged.

“My mother helped with my hair. A lot of pins and combing was involved, so don’t expect perfection” ‘J’ warned.

Allison nodded as she turned her back towards her. She felt her hair begin to part as ‘J’ began to work. Sir Reginald had always told his children that no one was quite like them since they were gifted with extraordinary abilities, yet as Allison glanced at her shoulder at ‘J’, she felt bonded with the ordinary girl.

They talked and talked, and somewhere along the way, Ben’s powers had become a topic of discussion. Again, Allison’s memory was faulty here. She could not quite recall what specifically was said, but Ben had overheard it and immediately stormed off. He gave her the silent treatment right up until they went back to their hotel room, and she pried out the truth through a rumour. The confession was hazy, but Allison remembered apologizing. It was not enough to satisfy Ben and they both went to sleep irritated.

Allison woke up later that night to use the bathroom. When she finished, she caught Ben tiptoeing towards the exit. Her interest piqued and she grabbed her coat. Ben reluctantly allowed her to come along.

They left and a cool breeze hit them. Allison envied Ben for being smart enough to have changed out of his pyjamas.

As they walked aimlessly, it was quiet until Allison decided she hated the awkward silence. “Do you ever feel like we’re different?” she asked as she felt her braided bun, hoping the wind had not messed it up too badly. It had been a question she was pondering all night.

“Don’t know where you’d get that idea,” said Ben, monotoned. “It’s not like we’ve been told that our entire lives.”

“From our siblings, I meant,” Allison clarified.

“Sure,” said Ben dismissively.

Allison rolled her eyes. She brought the question up with Diego earlier and he had given her the same moody reaction. “God, you boys are impossible to talk to.”

“Yeah, maybe you should be less vague?” suggested Ben.

Allison squinted at him. “Are you seriously still mad at me?” When he didn’t answer, she crossed her arms both because she was frustrated and because the wind was getting stronger. “I already told you I was sorry and I didn’t even mean what I said as an insult. I was just being honest.”

“That must’ve been the first time you were honest then,” murmured Ben. Allison opened her mouth to argue but was quickly interrupted.

“There it is,” Ben said, and Allison’s eyes followed where he was pointing. The Effiel Tower was shining brightly in the far distance. It suddenly made sense why Ben had snuck out.

“Wow,” said Allison, eyes widening in awe. "It really does look better at night."

She glanced over to Ben who was looking up at the sky. Curious, she did the same and saw the stars shining above.

“Huh,” said Allison thoughtfully, and she pointed up at a particular line of stars that shaped something vague. “That looks like a bunny.”

“Yeah, a bit,” lied Ben. “Do you see anything else?”

Allison pointed out a bear, and a mouse, and crown, and a bow tie. Ben didn’t see it. It was silent again as they stared at the tourist attraction.

“Just so you know,” said Ben after a moment. “I don’t really care about what people say about me. I’m used to being called ‘creepy’ or ‘gross’ or whatever. It’s just kinda shitty to hear it from my own sister.”

Allison thought back to the conversation with ‘J’. Was that really what she said? “I was talking about the Horror,” Allison clarified.

“It doesn’t matter if you were talking about the Horror. The Horror is still me.” He looked at the ground as he mumbled, “Plus you totally embarrassed me in front of Riley…”

Allison’s eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

“No one,” Ben said quickly as he hid his face further into his jacket. “I didn’t say anything.”

Allison poked at Ben’s flushed cheeks, teasingly. “Ooooh, someone has a cruuush! Is Riley the one with the wavy hair and big brown eyes? Because I totally saw them checking you out too.”

“Really?” Ben’s eyes lit up, but he quickly snapped out of it and shook his head. “Don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. Everyone we’ve met today, we will probably never see again anyway.”

Allison frowned at him. “Way to bring down the mood, Ben. It is kinda sad though, isn’t it? I mean, I love meeting new people and making friends; it’s one of my favourite things to do during missions, but then we leave and I just end up missing them.” She sighed and her breath fogged up the air. “There have just been too many instances I wish I could go back in time just to enjoy the moment again. Maybe that’s what Five did.”’

“Yeah, maybe.” Ben didn’t sound convinced. Five had run away three years ago and no conspiracy theory formulated by their siblings had convinced Ben of where he had gone. “But you know what my favourite part about going on missions is?” said Ben with a grin emerging. “Travelling. It can be overwhelming sometimes but it’s fun to get out of the city for once. Explore new places, eat new foods, discover new cultural norms. That's what is most exciting: the newness of it all. I just wish we travelled more.”

Allison wholeheartedly agreed. “That’s what I plan to do when I move out.”

Ben blinked at her in surprise. “You’re moving out?”

“I assumed we all would at some point.”

“I never really thought about it. Where would you go?”

“I don’t know.” She thought about it for a second. “Maybe Los Angeles.”

“That’s pretty far from the city.”

 _"Yeah, that’s kind of the point_ ," Allison wanted to say but decided it best to keep it to herself. Ben probably knew that already.

He suddenly looked back up at the sky. “Are you sure you don’t see anything else?”

“That one looks like a horse, I guess,” lied Allison, pointing up at nowhere. She also saw a flower, and a tiger, and _maybe_ a butterfly.

What was also in the sky was a plane going west. Their eyes followed it, curious of where it was headed. “When you do decide to move, you think I can tag along?” wondered Ben. “I think it’d be fun to explore the world without it being a mission.”

She chuckled like he had been joking, but when she looked at him he was being completely serious. “I mean, sure,” answered Allison. “It’ll probably be a while. Maybe when we turn eighteen?”

“Okay, but we would have to get, like, part-time jobs to be able to afford an apartment or something,” Ben recognized, “but I think we can manage. Assuming It’s ok if we live together for a while, just until we’re stable enough to live on our own.”

“Seems like the smartest thing to do,” said Allison. “You are serious about this, right? You’re not just, like, playing along?”

”Of course I’m serious.”

Silence. Again. They were both busy daydreaming of what the future will hold, assuming it was even an option to move out.

“I…” Ben cleared his throat before going on. “I know I said I like travelling for the newness of it all but, there’s a familiarity to it also. We’ve been stuck inside the mansion for so long, we forget that there are people in the world who are just like us. And I don’t mean in a super-human-kinda-way like what we have in common with our siblings, but like in an ordinary way, if that makes sense?“

He gave Allison a shy grin, hoping she’d at least nod and she did. She reached for a strand of hair that fell over his forehead and pushed it back in place. His hair was soft, almost cloud-like. She missed that feeling between her fingers.

Ben looked up at the sky once again and Allison began to wonder where his obsession with stars suddenly came from. Probably Luther. “Do you see anything else?” he asked one last time.

And when Allison looked up she finally saw what Ben wanted her to see. No, it wasn’t the stars, nor the moon, nor was it even the sky itself. Up above ticked a timer and with each tick, the number decreased.

“What…” Allison squinted, confusion engulfing her consciousness. “What’s it counting down to?”

He didn’t answer. Snow had begun to fall slowly towards Allison and her memory began to blur even more. She looked to where the Eiffel Tower was supposed to be but was met with a blank landscape; a completely clean slate of paper. At least that’s what it looked like with all the snow that piled up. She suddenly found she was holding a black umbrella, and the thin pyjamas she wore had been replaced with her uniform. It was only when Allison blinked and felt tears streaming down her cheek, she realized what memory she had landed in.

“Oh, I see,” said Allison calmly. Ben had lied to her. She would have to go to Los Angeles alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just an FYI: they are literally looking up at the chapter title because I’m meta like that


	5. 6,640 minutes left

Some of the fondest moments in life are only realized through memories that you look back on when you’re ten years older. This was especially true for Vanya who held the belief that nothing good came out of her childhood. The academy was an experimental lab that she was forced to call home-sweet-home. A place presented with such prestige but inside was the chilling truth of a never-ending nightmare shared by seven (now six) unlucky participants.

Times of stress and hatred was what laid in the memories of the Hargreeves, but recent contemplation made Vanya find a newfound appreciation for the little moments. It was the occasional ‘good nights’ from Luther when they bumped into each other in the hallway before bedtime or the sharing of snacks from Klaus who had sneaked a bag of potato chips into the mansion. These little moments— moments that brought a rare warmth to the otherwise chilling household, had given them a sense of normalcy that an average family was supposed to possess.

A particular little moment with Ben was what stood out the most for Vanya despite it being rather grim under the circumstances:

They were seventeen. She watched as the academy burst through the mansion doors rather abruptly. All her siblings were with new bruises after being called to a mission an hour prior. The snowy weather had them leaving muddy footprints wherever they stomped, and Diego headed straight for Grace. He seemed the most banged-up out of everyone: a throbbing eye and possibly a broken arm. The others suffered minor scratches that they could tend themselves in the comfort of their own room where they let out ugly sobs freely from the pain they endured.

No one greeted Vanya as they passed by her on the staircase. Not even Ben offered her a ‘hello’. He had just stopped in front of her and, without a word, he rolled up his coat sleeve, revealing a gruesome wound along his arm that he had been hiding.

Vanya brought him to her room and they sat on the edge of her bed. On her bedside table, she moved aside her ticking clock to make space for the medical supplies she borrowed from the kitchen cabinet. Carefully, she began cleaning the dried blood off Ben’s palm with a damp rag.

“I don’t think you should be embarrassed about getting injured,” said Vanya and it had been the first sentence said between the two. It wasn’t an awkward silence that they endured— in fact, it was familiar. The scenario of Ben needing stitches from Vanya was such a regular occurrence, it became somewhat of a mundane task.

“But it kinda _is_ embarrassing,” murmured Ben, wincing as Vanya moved the rag from his palm to his wound.

“I don’t think so,” said Vanya. “Not to me, at least.”

“Well, I know it’s not embarrassing to you,” said Ben. “That’s why I go to you to stitch me up.”

Vanya froze for a second and met eyes with him. “Really?”

“I mean, yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s easier this way.”

A confession of trust— it wasn’t at all what Vanya was used to at all. No one trusted Vanya, she was always the last choice. But Ben was completely unaware of how odd he made himself out to be. Albeit unintentional, It had only made Vanya harvest more doubt.

She looked back down at Ben’s wound. “I don’t really know if I’m any good. Mom is better at it than I am, I think.”

“It’s a part of her programming, so probably,” said Ben, not trying to sound harsh, just being truthful. “But really, it’s okay. You do a fine job, Vanya.”

She nodded meekly. “Okay then.”

There was nothing else to talk about— nothing significant for Vanya to remember at least. It was more so the feeling of comfort in what was familiar that she pondered on the most.

Vanya had her hand wrapped under Ben’s wrist and she stared at his opened palm. How odd. His palm was painted in blood. Didn’t she just clean it off? She scrubbed it off again but when she blinked, the blood returned….

_Tick, tick, tick!_

Her grip tightened at the sound of the clock. It was happening again. No matter how hard she tried to fight off the memory, it was always lingering in the back of her mind. It was that _tick, tick, ticking_ of the countdown that was soon to reach zero. That dreaded sound had seeped and tainted what pleasant memories were left of Ben. It was just so loud. That damned countdown clock was nothing but a nuisance— nothing but an unwanted reminder of what was to come.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked after Vanya sat silent for too long. “It’s that ticking, isn’t it?”

She nodded and refused to look up. She knew what image she would be greeted with if she lifted her head and met his eyes.

“Time is running out,” he told her.

“Aren’t you terrified?” she asked.

He hesitated before telling the full truth, “No, at least not anymore. When you’ve replayed the memory so many times in your mind, it’s hard to feel anything anymore.”

Was that supposed to be reassuring? Vanya couldn’t tell and she was too embarrassed to ask out loud.

“You know,” Ben said thoughtfully. “Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if I was ever really terrified of running out of time. I’ll be terrified when it happens, sure, but It has always been a known mystery kept behind closed curtains.”

“Closed curtains?” Vanya repeated.

“Yeah, like, I know there’s something waiting behind them, I just don’t know when they will open up,” Ben spoke carefully like he was processing his own words as he said them out loud. “On some days it's completely drawn closed and I’m left backstage. But on rough days like today, the curtains crack open just enough for me to sneak a peek at what exactly lies on the other side. It’s usually too dark for me to get a proper look, and maybe that’s all it has to offer me. Or maybe I’ve just been looking too early and whatever remains on the other side is not yet ready to be seen. So when the countdown reaches zero and the curtains open up, I think I _will_ be terrified but I don’t think I’ll be surprised... I’ll just be thinking, ‘So It’s finally time to take a bow!’”

Vanya frowned sorrowfully at his words. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” she offered.

Ben did not hold the same sorrow. In fact, he sounded entirely too neutral. “What’s there to be sorry about?”

Vanya eyed the clock solemnly, and it ticked, and ticked, and ticked back at her. Just listening to it for a second, how could anyone stay sane? But apparently Ben had been listening to it his whole life, and he was the sanest out of all of them.

“It must be tiring,” said Vanya, “just silently anticipating the last minutes of your life.”

Vanya assumed she went too far when she didn’t hear an immediate reply. It was not like she expected a reply anyway but Ben gave her one, albeit a bit delayed;

“You say that like you haven't been counting down to zero as well,” he told her flatly.

Until now, Vanya did not notice how hard she had been scrubbing at Ben’s palms. You’d think she was trying to sandpaper his skin off but as she lifted the rag to see what she had accomplished, his palms were still stained. Hesitantly, her eyes slowly gazed upwards, and there it was: the face of her brother lying in his casket. No amount of stitching could have fixed him on that day. He was almost as unrecognizable as the stranger they’d meet twelve years later.

“I’ve always hated the countdown.” Ben’s voice was soft, almost calming if it weren’t for the circumstances.

“I do too,” admitted Vanya, just as softly.

“Then why do you keep listening to it?”

The clock had only gotten louder with every minute that passed, it was hard to focus on anything that wasn’t the _tick, tick, ticking_. Yes, Vanya hated the countdown, but how could she ignore it? Every minute of Ben being alive was a minute too short.

Gently, Ben pulled Vanya’s hand closer to his chest. “Take us somewhere else. I don’t think this memory is doing any good.”

And she did. It took some time, but Vanya thought up another memory— another little moment of the mundane. Still, their hands were intertwined but the blood on Ben had been completely washed off. The summer sunlight spilling from the living room windows shined on them like a spotlight. They stood face to face, readying themselves in the proper positions before the record began to spin.

Dance lessons taught by Sir Reginald had always been something Vanya looked forward to, mainly because it was one of the few activities she was included in. It had also been the most time she had spent with Ben alone ever since the disappearance of Five who both were close with.

“Do you think he would have enjoyed learning ballroom dancing?” wondered Vanya out loud.

“He probably would have left earlier if he found out it was going to be a part of our curriculum,” answered Ben. It was grim but Vanya couldn’t help but chuckle.

In the corner of her eye, Vanya caught Luther and Allison struggle with their height difference while, in the opposite corner of her eye, Klaus and Diego repressed the urge to murder each other on the spot. Vanya and Ben were no walk in the park either: there had been countless times she had stepped on his feet and vice versa.

“I like this memory a lot better,” admitted Ben.

Vanya smiled. She wholeheartedly agreed.

She looked back at this memory, not with embarrassment as she fell to the ground and got a couple of eye rolls from her siblings, but with fondness as Ben extended his hand to help her back up. It was the comfort in holding Ben’s hand that stuck with her. She had never thought about it in the moment, but the mutual yet unspoken agreement of trust had always been there between the two siblings, they had just not realized it.

Vanya stood back on her feet and they continued to sway together.

“Do you hear that?” Ben suddenly asked.

Vanya listened closely but heard nothing. “Hear what?”

“Nothing,” he said after a beat. Vanya swore she saw the corner of his mouth twitch into almost a grin, but perhaps that was just her faulty memory. “Just remember me how I am now,” he told her.

Vanya searched his eyes, not quite understanding what he meant. But she continued to ponder her memory with nothing but the sound of a classical record spinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one more chapter left! hope you all have been enjoying :)
> 
> in other news: LETS GOOOO, ELLIOT PAGE, LETS GOOOOO!!!!!


	6. 0 minutes left

The countdown reached zero when Ben died.

They gathered around the courtyard, looking down at his coffin. No moment of silence was offered to ponder the memories of their brother. And what was there to ponder when all their memories of Ben were replaced with the gruesome events leading up to today? So they all argued and yelled and tore their bond apart.

Well. Maybe not all.

Klaus was never able to hear Ben’s countdown. Why would he? Even after Ben died, Ben still stood by his side, nagging and complaining in his ear like one of Sir Reginald’s broken records at the dinner table. The record just kept spinning and spinning and spinning until it stopped, and Grace reset it so it could spin and spin and spin again. It’s like, yeah, Klaus gets it: he’s wasting his life on trivial bullshit. Alcohol. Drugs. Parties. Sex. More alcohol and even more drugs. And just as Ben is Sir Reginald’s broken record, Klaus’ process repeated itself. There was no amount of nagging to stop him.

“This is a bad idea, Klaus,” was one of Ben’s most common warnings. It came out like a harsh whisper which wasn’t necessary, really. No one was able to hear him but Klaus. Maybe it was out of habit. Maybe it was out of comfort.

“You’ve snuck out too many nights in a row. Someday, you’re gonna get caught,” said Ben.

“And that ' _someday'_ won’t be today,” Klaus assured. He unlocked the window in Five’s room and climbed down the fire escape.

Ben followed reluctantly. “You don’t know that.”

“You worry too much,” said Klaus.

“Considering what happened at my funeral today, I think I have the right to worry about your guys’ wellbeing.”

Klaus scoffed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Their feet hit the ground and the brothers faced each other. Snow was still pouring and piling up on surfaces. Klaus kept his hands warm in his jacket pocket and he envied Ben; unconcerned by the snowflakes that fell through him.

“Well, I mean, the funeral was kinda a shitshow,” said Ben, scrunching his nose at the memory. “We’ve argued a lot but this afternoon felt different. Like, something in the air shifted?”

“You mean the weather?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “No, dummy. Something just felt… off.”

“I mean, you died so…” Klaus trailed off, shrugging. “Forgive us for being tense.”

“Just,” Ben paused, thinking. “Just take care of each other, alright? It sucks watching you guys like that.”

“If it’s any consolation, It was going to happen eventually. Us falling apart, I mean. You dying was just the tip of the iceberg,” said Klaus, trying to place a comforting hand on his brother’s shoulder. It cut through and his arm dropped to his side awkwardly.

Ben’s lips thinned. “How reassuring,” he deadpanned.

“Take it as a compliment,” said Klaus. “It’s high praise.”

It wasn’t that Klaus was unbothered by Ben’s death. His death was a gut-wrenching and traumatizing sight that left Klaus sick to his stomach. It lasted forever yet what cameras caught was the entire six-second scene. Forever ingrained in Klaus’ memory was a nightmare for endless nights to come, and alcohol was the only thing to suppress it. Bells chimed as they entered a convenience store nearby. Klaus headed straight for the coolers.

“The others blame themselves for my death, don’t they?” Ben suddenly said out loud right as Klaus slipped a beer can into his jacket. Klaus froze at the question—though, it sounded much more like a statement.

Klaus answered his question with one of his own: “Is it _not_ our fault? We were the only ones who could have saved you.”

“I don’t know whose fault it was,” he confessed. “But it wasn’t yours.” Ben would remind Klaus of this for years to come, each time he sounded more sure of himself and eventually Klaus would believe him. The others did not have that luxury.

“Hey,” said Klaus, once again, trying to grab Ben’s shoulder only for his hand to fall through. Klaus sighed heavily. “Maybe I can manifest you so you could say your proper goodbyes? You never really had the chance.”

Ben looked away, considering it. “No,” he answered honestly. “At least not now. I think that’ll just make things harder.”

Klaus nodded and offered a reassuring smile. He smiled back but it faded quickly.

“You should put that back.” Ben pointed at his pocket, so quick to return to his nagging self. Klaus rolled his eyes and waved him off. “No, seriously,” Ben insisted, eyes looking past Klaus’ shoulder. “Klaus put it back.”

He didn’t and decided to make a run for it when he was caught by the cashier who had been lingering behind him. Safely back home, Ben continued to argue with him, expressing his annoyance and disappointment. Klaus chugged his beer within seconds and wished he stole more.

Klaus imagined that, if he could hear it, maybe the countdown was as annoying as Ben was. There was one instance-- and it’s a miracle this one instance even happened-- Klaus told Ben to ‘Ohmygod, shut up! You make me want to choke on sewer water!’ and Ben DID shut up but not before mumbling: “You’re the one who asked me to stay.”

On that day, Klaus discovered that silence was not as comforting of a companion as Ben, but he never admitted that out loud. Maybe Ben thought the same when he returned to bother him just an hour later.

Silence. It felt like a deadly weapon to the wandering mind. Silence is when you’re left to recall memories stored deep within your mind. It’s a locked chest with heavy chains wrapped around and the only way to unlock it is to ponder on the ‘ _what could haves_ ’ or the ‘ _what should haves_ ’ or the ‘ _what could bes_ ’. On the day Ben was silent for an hour, Klaus did just that and in the distance, just for a split second, he could hear the _tick, tick, ticking_. It was enough to remind him that his time with Ben was still on a time limit; Ben had yet to accept his fate. The countdown sounded far away, so Klaus supposed that was a good thing. There was still time.

There were six minutes left on the countdown when Klaus heard the ticking for the second and last time. He laid on the cold tiled floors with Diego and Allison-- all half-conscious, including himself. Ben hovered over them. Wordlessly, Klaus stared at him. He stared back. And with this silence, they both understood: it was time.

Klaus watched as Ben walked towards Vanya-- her uncontrollable powers be damned. Klaus wondered if Ben was scared; If he was excited; If he was exhilarated; If he was nervous. And as he thought about this, the countdown reached zero and Klaus was alone in silence.

He pondered: during Ben’s lifetime, he was sweet in the beginning, miserable in the middle, and real fucking bitter at the end. All three phases transferred into purgatory with Klaus and every day was like Ben dug into a raffle box and whatever came out would be his primary emotion for the day. Sometimes it was all three at the same time which was as fascinating to witness as it was incredibly irksome. But that was who Ben was: he was witty, and charming, yet annoying, and awkward, and kind, and loving, and caring, and someone truly missed. It was with great relief, Klaus looked back on the memories of his brother without it being disrupted by the ticking of the clock. Albeit, It still ticked in his memories but the countdown wasn’t meant to be a warning for his gruesome death. The clock had been counting down to Ben’s peaceful rest. Finally, he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

But.

But now there was a new portrait on the wall; a familiar face from their past that was lost in their memories. Now the academy stood frozen looking at him in the flesh. Was it really him? How could that be when they’ve seen him die with their own eyes?

No.

No, that was not him. That was not their dead brother standing in front of them. Not the brother they remembered, at least. Nothing was right.

They stared at the stranger and it was then silence overcame them, just for the briefest moment. It was the silence they couldn’t give him during his funeral. The silence that allowed them to ponder on the memories they shared with their deceased brother.

Klaus glanced around at his siblings. He wondered how they remembered their brother.

Did they remember the joy in his eyes or was it replaced with dilated pupils of panic as he came closer to his death? Did they remember the calmness of his voice or was it tainted by his deafening screams of terror as he released the Horror one last time? Did they remember his dimples when he smiled and frowned or was it the way his mouth stretched opened to plead for mercy? Did they remember his perfectly combed hair or was it a dishevelled mess drenched in the treacherous snowfall they endured? Did they remember the touch of his hands or were they red with blood, soon to be dried brown if it wasn’t wiped off? Did they remember their time together with Ben fondly or were they just counting down to his death?

Though their memories are shaded in different gradients, there was one thing they were sure to agree on: the stranger in front of them was not who they remembered their brother to be.

This silence was not forever, it’d be a waste not to use it wisely.

So they stared at the stranger in front of them.

In this silence—

this rare silence—

their minds drifted.

And Ben stared back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for indulging in this experimental-writing-project-thing! It was fun writing shorter chapters and getting meta with it. i hope y’all enjoyed! 
> 
> i might go back to this and write in the notes and point out specific details... but the most prominent one is: Every memory includes a certain feature of Ben’s that the siblings specifically remember:
> 
> Diego: his eyes  
> Luther: his voice  
> Five: his frown  
> Allison: his hair  
> Vanya: the touch of his hands


End file.
